


The ways of him who holds the blade

by Dissenter



Series: Dare to raise the traitor hope [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, But since when has Tobirama let little things like that stop him, Canonical Character Death, Cynicism, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Gender politics, Grief/Mourning, Hashirama and Madara are not actually very good brothers, Hashirama is not a good husband, Heavy Angst, Ideology, In-Laws, Isolation, Izuna is dead, Loneliness, Loss of Agency, Loss of Identity, Loss of Purpose, Love, Politics, Questionable mental stability, Soul-Searching, Spirit Animals, Spirit World, Summons, Tea Parties, Tobirama's poor coping mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Worldbuilding, enemies to dead enemies to imaginary friends, seditious writings, spirit quest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:22:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissenter/pseuds/Dissenter
Summary: In the quiet hours between midnight and dawn, who's to know or care if Senju Tobirama is sharing drinks with ghosts.





	1. Drinks at midnight

**Author's Note:**

> The Tobirama centric prequel to "Why we build the wall", that I promised. I've been fiddling with it all week and decided it needed to be posted before I ruined it.  
> It's going to be a little different in structure than "Why we build the wall", more a series of mainly chronological snapshots than an actual plot. More characters should make an appearance in later chapters. This chapter is set shortly after the village's founding.

Not for the first time, Tobirama found himself missing Izuna.

 They had never been friends. Their brothers had been the reckless dreamers. He and Izuna had to live in the real world, and in the real world there had never been a chance they could be anything but enemies. But… there had been something between them that couldn’t be reduced to simple blood and hate. Something that could have been near kin to love, to friendship, if love had claws and fangs and venom.

And so, while they may have never been anything but enemies, for all that it wasn’t nearly as surprising as it should have been that Tobirama found himself missing him in that dead time between midnight and dawn, when even Shinobi villages fall quiet. It was a hard cold ache in the soul where he could _feel_ the absence of someone who had in his own way defined Tobirama as much as Hashirama ever had.

The village had long since fallen silent, and decent people were in bed, but Tobirama was still awake. Awake and alone always alone, and an unfathomable impulse had him setting out glasses for two, pouring out sake for nobody at all.

Or… no, not for nobody. To call Izuna a nobody would be an injustice to the both of them and everything that had been between them. That glass wasn’t for nobody. He knew exactly why he’d poured that glass. He knew exactly who he’d poured it for, and death was not enough to render him irrelevant. Not to Tobirama.

The image of Izuna was sharp as a blade in his memory. A thousand memories, of Izuna angry, amused, afraid, impressed. Izuna in battle with sharingan active and teeth bared in a wild and vicious glee. Izuna fidgeting, impatient, cleaning his fingernails with a kunai while he waited for a battle to begin.

Izuna pale as bone as he fell with Tobirama’s blade in his side.

The silence was almost accusing.

“We all make choices Izuna.” He said softly to the empty space across the table. “Some of us have to live with them.” There was of course no answer from the space where Izuna wasn’t. Just silence. Izuna was dead, and even if he hadn’t been, they were never friends, he never could have been sitting there in this life.

Maybe in a different world, one where Izuna had lived he would have been. Maybe then they could have sat together and shared drinks, and talked, but there Tobirama’s imagination failed him. He just couldn’t imagine that world. He could remember Izuna clear as day but he couldn’t picture him sitting at the place Tobirama had set for him.

He stared across the table, at the empty chair and the untouched glass of sake, that he’d set out for a dead man, and thought about how dreams were so hard to catch hold of but skill had never deserted him and so he found his hands moving in familiar patterns, almost without his conscious input. Imagination might fail him, but he was shinobi and there was no reason he had to let himself be limited by imagination.

“You do know I’m not really here Senju.” Izuna drawled from across the table, as viciously honest as he’d been in life.

“Yes.” Tobirama answered softly. “Does that really change anything?”

“I suppose that depends on a simple question. Which do you think is the more unstable, the person who hallucinates involuntarily, or the person who chooses to genjutsu themselves into seeing dead people?” Izuna paused for a moment before continuing, gaze fixed firmly on Tobirama, and for a moment Tobirama could almost convince himself it was the real thing. “It’s an interesting question. The former implies a loss of control over one’s own mind, but then, the latter demonstrates a wilful failure to deal with reality.”

“That’s the wrong question. The question is which of the two can best conceal the fact they are seeing things that aren’t there.” Tobirama was arguing with himself really, he knew that. He and Izuna had never argued so civilly, not when duty demanded the flash of blades and blood spilled. But still, it felt good.

“So sanity is determined by how well you can pretend not to be crazy. Interesting theory.” And Izuna’s sneer was just as Tobirama remembered it, a challenge that had to be answered.

“You honestly think any of us are sane. You honestly think anyone could be what we are, live the lives we live, and stay sane? A sane shinobi is one that can fake normal when it counts. It’s the best that can be managed.” The live man resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. If he started he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

“Point.” The shade of Izuna said softly. It shouldn’t have felt so satisfying to hear that when he knew it wasn’t real. “But then, even by that definition, you’re standing pretty close to the edge aren’t you?” It was even more ridiculous that an image he’d dreamed up out of chakra and old memories was successfully scoring points off him, but then, Izuna always had been able to match him, in all things.

“I haven’t slipped up yet.” He snapped, without any real heat, as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He hadn’t slipped up yet, but sometimes he wondered just why that mattered so much to him.

“And you think my brother has.” Izuna said, flat and cool as the blade of a sword.

“Tell me you don’t see it too?” Madara had been unravelling, fraying at the edges since Izuna died and it frightened Tobirama to think where he might end up if he stopped pretending to be sane. Maybe that was why he put so much effort into holding it together, because he could see in Madara a living breathing example of where he might end up if he didn’t.

“Of course I see it, I’m you, remember.” Izuna snapped just as the real one would’ve, half in offense at Tobirama’s accusation, half in fear at the truth of it. And it was truth, anyone who watched Madara carefully enough could see it. Flinches at things that weren’t there, at voices that no-one else could hear, a manic edge to his movements born in night after night of bad dreams and not enough sleep. A fever in his eyes when he fought that left his allies shaken and his enemies so much flesh on the ground. The signs were all there, even Madara’s own clan could see them, and if Hashirama refused to see it, that was only because he’d always lived more in his dreams than in reality.

“You’d have seen it even if you were really Izuna. We’re too much alike that way. We see things how they really are, not how we’d like them to be.”

“For all the good it’s done us. I’m dead, and you’re sitting here wondering which of us got the better deal in that battle.” Tobirama couldn’t argue with that. There was too much truth in it.

“You’re right. Sometimes I wonder just which of us came out better from that battle. It might have been easier, if our places were reversed. What do you think? Would you trade places with me? Trade the peace of the grave for this nightmare.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think even the real Izuna would know.” The shadow replied, helplessly. “I don’t think he could have stopped them either, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No. I suppose not.” Tobirama said wistfully. .”But maybe you would have failed to stop them in a different way. Madara listened to you at least. No-one listens to me.”

“Maybe he did maybe he didn’t. If he truly listened to me this village wouldn’t be standing. I might as easily have said Hashirama listens to you.” Tobirama laughed then, but there wasn’t a trace of real humour in it.

“Hashirama doesn’t listen to anyone. Except maybe Madara, but even then, only when Madara says things he wants to hear.”

 “True enough.” Izuna conceded. “But then, Madara’s mad now, at least Hashirama can be predicted.”

“In much the same way as a tsunami. A few hours warning, and no way to turn him aside.” Tobirama’s bitterness surprised even himself. But not Izuna. Izuna just nodded in the kinship that no-one living could offer. They were quiet then for a while, and Tobirama sipped his drink and looked out at the stars.

“They just burn so bright don’t they Izuna?” He said softly, and he wasn’t talking about the stars. “Whether it be with conviction, or hope, or rage, they burn so bright that people can’t help but be drawn in, can’t help but believe. They burn so bright they blind themselves, and everyone around them.” He paused, surprised to find his glass empty. He poured himself another. Izuna’s glass sat untouched at the other side of the table.

“Reality is never as appealing as dreams I suppose.” There was a bitter understanding in Izuna’s eyes. Tobirama wondered what it said about him, that the only person who really listened to him was a dead man, just a ghost in his memory. That he’d killed the only person who understood him, and he didn’t regret it.

Regretted that it had come to that yes, but he didn’t regret striking to kill. He and Izuna had lived in the real world not in dreams. It was always going to end with one of them killing the other, he knew it, Izuna knew it, both of their clans knew it. The only people that didn’t know it, were the reckless dreamers they called brother.

He wondered what Madara would make of his late night drinking sessions with his brother’s ghost. Probably he’d be angry. Madara was always angry these days. Maybe he’d even try to kill him, crazy people could be hard to predict, and Madara _was_ crazy.

But it was none of Madara’s business really. Izuna was five years dead, and if Tobirama sometimes chose to set the table and share a drink with an old enemy who wasn’t there and never would be... well Tobirama didn’t owe Madara an explanation. He never had. He didn’t owe Madara _anything_.

Izuna had been _Tobirama’s_ enemy. They had fought, all their lives, from the moment they’d been old enough to stand on a battlefield. They’d learned together, how to fight, how to kill, how to read an enemy’s mind across a field of blood, how to grieve for fallen comrade. They’d fought and they hadn’t held back and one day Izuna hadn’t walked away, and that was between the two of them. To reduce all of that to _Madara’s_ grief, Madara’s rage. That was something Tobirama refused to do.

Because they might have been enemies but sometimes Tobirama suspected that Izuna was the only person who had ever seen him as anything other than Hashirama’s brother, the only person for whom Hashirama had been _Tobirama’s_ brother instead. Izuna of all people was in a position to understand that, after all, as far as Tobirama had been able to see he was the only one whom Madara had been _Izuna’s_ brother. Everyone else had looked at them and seen their brothers shadows, never as powerful, never as visionary as their _stupid_ brilliant dangerous brothers. No one else had ever seen _them_.

He shook away those thoughts, aware that he’d been silent for too long, even if he wasn’t sure how much that really mattered when he was talking to a dead man.

“The two of us, we always saw far too clearly didn’t we? Someone had to, and it wasn’t going to be either of our brothers, so it had to be us. After all there are two kinds of people in the world...”

“Those who imagine what might be, and those who see what is.” Izuna finished the quote for him. “I see you read my book.”

“Of course. I read everything you ever wrote. Just like I’m sure you read everything I wrote.” He smiled a little bitterly. “Know thine enemy.” He carefully didn’t think about how Hashirama had never read anything he published, about the tension, the first time he’d done it as he waited for his brother to confront him. About the sick combination of relief and betrayal as he realised Hashirama hadn’t bothered to read it.

That had been the day Tobirama realised. Hashirama didn’t doubt him because it never occurred to him that people he liked might disagree with him. Because it never occurred to him that he might be wrong, and so by extension, all reasonable, right thinking people would share his beliefs.

That, more than anything else, was the most terrifying thing about Hashirama. Not the Mokuton, not the fact that he was clan head of one of the most powerful clans in fire country. It was that complete, utterly unshakable belief in his own rightness. In some ways, his own brother scared him more than Madara did.

 Another drink for Tobirama while Izuna’s glass stood there, still untouched. Tobirama took a long sip before speaking again.

“You and I, we always saw too clearly didn’t we? The house always wins, changing the game doesn’t change that. Sometimes all it does is raise the stakes, and you can’t imagine the stakes we’re playing with now. I know I couldn’t, before Hashirama finally succeeded in bringing his dream to life.” Izuna looked thoughtful.

“I did a little. Not… all of it, but I saw the shape of it. Why do you think I argued so hard against the formation of the village? You read my books, you know what I saw. I always was better at people than you and I could see how people would react.” Tobirama remembered Izuna’s books, slightly dense, but deeply insightful. He usually went for a more psychological approach than Tobirama himself would, but that was to be expected from an Uchiha and it was good to see different angles on an issue. _“Old soldiers”_ Izuna’s study of the position of elders in shinobi clans, and its implications, had caught even Tobirama off guard with its conclusions. Still, Izuna might have been insightful, but he couldn’t have seen this. _No-one_ could have seen this.

“The shape but not the scale. There’s war on the horizon Izuna, but it will be a war like nothing either of us have ever seen, like nothing anyone has ever seen.” Tobirama’s voice shook a little, from something other than the drink.

“You afraid Senju?” Izuna mocked.

“Yes. I’m not a fool like my brother, or a madman like yours. I’m afraid. You would be too, if you weren’t already dead.” Izuna had no answer for that, and a few moments later Tobirama dismissed the genjutsu. He should at least try and sleep tonight.

Still, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time he called up an image of Izuna just to have someone to talk to that _listened._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Izuna is in fact dead. He's not a ghost, and Tobirama hasn't gone so far as to edo tensai him. He's a genjutsu based on Tobirama's memories of Izuna, and thus not actually real. Yes that means this is a whole chapter of a questionably stable character talking to a self induced hallucination.  
> I spent a while trying to figure out how to make this conversation work and that was the solution I settled on, after some experimentation.  
> Don't worry, more characters will make an appearance later. I have a good bit planned for Mito, and at some point Tobirama's students will make an appearance.


	2. Afternoon tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being married to his brother has not been good for Mito, and Tobirama can't help but feel responsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this took a while, but I think that time paid off. I seriously considered writing this in Mito's pov, but that would have meant I couldn't include Izuna. So I may do some of Mito's pov later when there's more characters to play around with.  
> This chapter is set three years after Hashirama and Mito got married, which happened about a year before the village was officially founded.

It was a beautiful day. Afternoon sunlight dappled golden and orange by the leaves of the trees Hashirama had grown for her, the sun was just the pleasant side of warm, the tea was perfectly brewed and served with the all the formal elegance that a highly skilled kunoichi could muster. It was picture book perfect.

And yet still Tobirama found himself thinking wistfully of missions, of the rations that never quite soothed the pangs of hunger, and the exhaustion that came of too many nights with no-one to watch while he slept, and the mud and blood that got into his hair and into his pack and into his clothes and dried there because there was nowhere to wash anything that wouldn’t just make it worse. He’d prefer that, to sitting in this beautiful garden sipping perfectly made tea, and talking to Mito. Anything would be easier than having to smile and make small talk with the powerful, terrifying, brilliant woman that his brother had reduced to an afterthought.

She’d deserved better.

They sat in a silence just the wrong side of uncomfortable, and he wondered just what she hoped to gain from these little conversations. Heavens knew she couldn’t find them any more enjoyable, any less uncomfortable than he did, she wasn’t Hashirama after all, wasn’t utterly blind to the atmosphere of a room. She could feel the tension in the silences that hung between them.

He wasn’t sure why Mito insisted on these little conversations over afternoon tea but insist she did, with a voice that was silk wrapped around sword steel and he was powerless to refuse. After all, by her marriage to Hashirama she was his honoured elder sister, to refuse would be an unthinkable kind of disrespect.

Possibly it was out of some obscure sense of propriety, a social obligation from her homeland, so little was known about Uzushio. Or maybe she was trying to make some kind of obscure point, although whether it was to him, or to Hashirama, or to the village as a whole who could say. Certainly though, it wasn’t because she enjoyed their little almost conversations.

Not that she ever let a hint of any discomfort show of course. If Tobirama weren’t the sensor he was, if he couldn’t taste the tension in the flow of her chakra he might have even been fooled. No matter how heavy the weight of things unsaid hung on the air, she never let herself show anything but perfect composure. She was the model of the ideal kunoichi in that, just as she was in everything else, and Tobirama couldn’t help but respect that, the same way he respected the bloodstained hurricane she became on the battlefield, as wild and hungry and unpredictable as the ocean itself.

Something was different though, because this time, Mito didn’t just pour the tea in silence, didn’t wait for him to speak first.

“Three years today.” She said, unreadable, not a trace of her heart or her thoughts in her voice.

“Yes.” Tobirama replied, just as carefully neutral. He was shinobi just as she was kunoichi, she wasn’t the only one who could hide her feelings.

“It seems longer.” She mused. “Don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.” He said carefully, only for her eyes to flash suddenly in uncharacteristic anger.

“Don’t give me that.” She snapped. “I get enough of platitudes and half answers from your brother.” Tobirama winced.

“Fair enough.” He conceded. “What exactly is it you want from me?”

“Nothing, everything. Just… talk to me, talk to me like a real person, I know you’re intelligent, use it.” Tobirama paused, caught between sympathy and discomfort. That was the sound of someone who’d spent far too much time trying to talk with Hashirama. The frustration of a woman who’d spent too many conversations knowing that the gap between what she said and what he heard was so wide as to be unbridgeable. If he weren’t so acutely aware of his own complicity in her situation, he might have even welcomed the chance to commiserate.

As it was, conjuring Izuna was at least half a panic response, desperate not to be alone with Mito, and it said nothing good about his mental state how quickly he had come to rely on his illusory rival. He didn’t even need handsigns to activate the jutsu any more. He wondered if Mito had caught the way his eyes had flickered towards Izuna, leaning insolently against her garden fence. Whether she had seen or not, she said nothing on the subject, just asked again, softly this time.

“Hashirama won’t talk to me. Will you, brother?” And he could not in good conscience refuse, not when she called him brother, not when she asked so calmly, with a world of silences behind her eyes.

“Yes. If that’s what you want.” There was a brief pause then, as Tobirama took a sip of his tea and tried to gather his thoughts. “I suppose you want to talk about Hashirama.” It wasn’t a question, after all, his brother her husband was at the very heart of the silence between them. She nodded anyway before speaking.

“Was he always this way?” She asked. It wasn’t an accusation but it felt like one. It felt like did you know, did you know what you were doing when you arranged our marriage, did you know what it would do to me and in the end the only answer Tobirama could find was yes.

“Yes. Always. Hashirama always saw too far and listened too little.”

“And knowing that, you still arranged for me to marry him.” Her tone was mild, but still he felt the unspoken accusation.

“You know.” Izuna said contemplatively. “I never thought I’d pity one of those Uzumaki hellwitches, but I really do feel kind of bad for her. She goes in expecting an equal alliance, authority, to have her voice heard and respected, and realises too late that men with dreams like that don’t have equals.” Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to argue with that assessment. It was true after all. And in the face of that truth all he had to fall back on was honesty.

 

“Yes I did. I had hoped…” He trailed off, unable to meet his sister in law’s eyes.

“What did you hope?” And it was an accusation, but there was also a gentleness to it, that told him she knew exactly what he’d hoped, and why he’d allowed that hope to rule him. After all, she loved Hashirama too. He gave a twisted little smile.

“I thought marriage might be good for him.” Tobirama said. A simple statement, but Mito understood, understood how he’d hoped, foolishly, desperately, that a wife and children would provide the anchor that could make Hashirama look away from his dream for just one moment to see the real people living their lives around him. That it might settle him in a way the wider bonds of clan and kin had never been equal to, that Tobirama had never been equal to. “Some men are like that. Wild in their youth, but settled when they can build their own little piece of the clan.” Mito’s hum of understanding was nearly obscured by Izuna’s snort of derision.

“Please Senju. You should have known better than that.” It stung because it was true. Some men were like that, but he should have known better than to ever think that Hashirama would have been one of them. Hashirama’s dreams had always burned too bright for the home hearth to contain. “Neither of our brothers was ever the settling down type.” Tobirama ignored him, spoke instead to Mito.

“Besides. You and your kin were the ones to ask for him. I could have argued you down to taking me instead, but he was the one you asked for.” She inclined her head slightly at that, respect for a point scored.

“True enough.” She mused. “Sometimes I do wonder though, if it might not have been better if I married you. We could have made it work I think. We’re alike in a lot of the right ways after all.”

“We wouldn’t have loved each other.” He pointed out. “Not romantically, not like you love my brother.”

“True.” She conceded. “But then, look where love and romance have brought me. We would at least have been good friends I think, partners, equals. There’s worse things to build a marriage on.” She smiled bitterly then. “The last three years have taught me how to name and number an even dozen of them.” And Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. Being married to Hashirama had not been good to his sister in law.

Mito loved Hashirama was the thing, was the trouble. Of course she did. Hashirama burned so brightly, dreamed so fiercely, he was all too easy to love, even for those who really should have known better. Sometimes Tobirama wondered if that wasn’t half of what was wrong with Madara. After all, the Uchiha clan head was many things, bitter, and broken, and mad, but he wasn’t stupid, wasn’t blind, and he knew Hashirama better than almost any man living. He was as helplessly drawn to Hashirama’s flame as the rest of them, but he _knew_ the way Tobirama did, the way Mito was coming to understand, that Hashirama could never return his devotion.

To be fair, Madara was probably the closest Hashirama could come to that kind of feeling. That was why he couldn’t, wouldn’t let the Uchiha go. Couldn’t imagine building his village without them, was willing to go to any lengths to bring them in. Tobirama honestly wasn’t sure whether that made it worse or better, and he doubted Madara knew either, caught between love and hatred as he was.

Hashirama was so very dangerously easy to love, that was always at the heart of the trouble, it was too easy to love him, and too easy to let him break your heart. Not that Tobirama ever had a choice in the matter. Hashirama was after all, his brother, and family was something Tobirama had never been able to dismiss. But loving Hashirama was like loving a storm, or a god, or a nation. All awe inducing power, and impossible scale, and high drama, and yet, when it came down to it, he would take and take and take, every look, every feeling, every act of devotion, take them as his due, and give back nothing of himself, give nothing to those who loved him that he did not give to the whole wide world of humanity.

Things would be so much easier if Mito hadn’t loved him, but it was such an easy trap to fall into. Tobirama’s brother was kind and handsome and so very charismatic. To a girl who’d been preparing all her life for a loveless arranged marriage he must have seemed like a fantasy come to life. Mito loved Hashirama and had realised too late that Hashirama couldn’t love her back. Or rather, that he did love her, but only as much as he loved everyone else, a kind of distant well intentioned benevolence. For one that loved as the women of Uzushio loved, fierce and forceful and demanding as the sea, it could never be enough. Tobirama had already had a lifetime to come to terms with the fact that Hashirama was quite capable of choosing a stranger’s life over his. A lifetime of knowing his brother loved him but would never put him first. There had been far less time for Mito to come to accept that, and she was still bitter, she had a right to be bitter, and since Hashirama was hardly likely to notice, it fell to Tobirama to deal with the fallout.

Of course she had far too much self-control to do anything as blatant or uncultured as showing it, but Tobirama knew. He could see it in her eyes, and the set of her mouth, and the cutting precision with which she poured the tea. He could hear it in the silences that hung between them thick enough to cut with a blade. She might be too professional to make an issue of it, but she _was_ bitter, she’d have to be broken not to be, and she might be worn down but she wasn’t broken. Tobirama pushed away memories of angry eyes blazing bright as flame red hair, slowly fading into a cynical resignation as the weeks, months, years went by and she finally realised Hashirama was never going to listen.

“I did hope you would be good for him.” He offered, and was unsurprised when she refused to settle for that. She deserved more, and just because he couldn’t offer anything more meaningful didn’t mean she was willing to settle. Tobirama could respect that.

And he had been honest at least. He truly had hoped Mito would have been good for his brother, might have been able to match him, might be able to stand as his brother’s equal the way Madara once had, the way Tobirama himself couldn’t. He’d seen Mito with her subtle strength, and composure, and shared belief in a bright new future and thought that maybe, she might be able to stand as an equal beside Hashirama, make him look away from the horizon even for a moment.

But then, Hashirama was many things but he never had been subtle, and he never was good at understanding strengths that he didn’t possess. Tobirama suspected that was half of why Madara loomed so large and impressive in Hashirama’s view of the world, because Madara was about as subtle as a forest fire and had the kind of strength Hashirama could respect. No wonder Mito’s subtlety, and skill, and ability to turn common courtesy into a razor edged weapon, had failed to draw his attention.

Izuna was right. He really should have known better.

“Of course I’m right Senju. That’s why you called me. I always tell you the things you already know are true. Although to be perfectly honest I’m fairly surprised she hasn’t murdered you all yet. You’ve probably got your brother’s thrice damned charisma to thank for that.”  Izuna drawled from his position by the willow tree echoing Tobirama’s own thoughts in a way that only a figment of his imagination could manage. Tobirama was careful not to even blink in reaction, no matter how tempting Izuna made it. After all, the last thing he needed was for Mito to notice him having conversations with people who weren’t there. Besides, Izuna was in his head, he already knew everything Tobirama might say in response.

“I’m tired Tobirama.” Mito said, suddenly. “I’m tired of keeping a place at my hearth for your brother, of waiting home for him, of keeping his house in order. I’m tired of people looking at me and seeing only my husband. If this goes on every part of me will fade away into the housewife he believes I am and I can’t bear it.”

“I know.” Tobirama said softly, letting her fill in the detail herself.

“I’ll bet you do Senju.” Izuna needled. “It’s pretty much what he did to you. When was the last time _you_ acted on your own behalf?” And this time Tobirama couldn’t quite restrain his reaction. Just a twitch, a slight flicker of eye movement. Mito was too polite to comment but she was far too good a Kunoichi to have missed it, conjuring Izuna for this afternoon tea had not been one of his better ideas, but, it was something he needed. A reminder of all the things he didn’t let himself think or say, a reminder that maybe they needed to be thought anyway, to be said aloud anyway. Tobirama looked up then, looked Mito right in the eye, the way he hadn’t at any point in their conversation.

“Don’t let it happen” he said urgently. “Find something, a cause, a job, a lover, doesn’t matter what. Find something that’s yours and only yours and hold on to it with everything you have.”  Maybe it was a betrayal of sorts. Hashirama was his brother and his clan head and he loved him in spite of everything. But then Mito was his sister now, and she deserved better. He owed her this much warning. Because no woman of her strength should ever have been reduced to this, a footnote in Hashirama’s legend, the hero’s love interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Mito is bringing all this up now, well, she hasn't told Tobirama but she's pregnant, and it's causing her to seriously think about the life she can see herself being shuffled into by Hashirama's well meaning dismissals. She's not happy about it. Her issue isn't with the pregnancy itself, it's with her own life, and how she knows Hashirama will react. (He'll almost certainly try and push her further into the housewife role and he won't even understand why she doesn't want him to.)
> 
> Let me sum up their relationship in one exchange. Hashirama married Mito, and decided girls like flowers right, so he grew her a beautiful peaceful garden to look pretty and give her a safe place to commune with nature. Mito uses the garden to hold sneaky machiavellian tea parties with people she either wants to stab in the back, or wants to help her stab other people in the back.   
> Hashirama fails to even notice.
> 
> As far as Mito is concerned pretty is just a useful way to distract people from poison, and you can't commune with nature anywhere that isn't as wild and deadly as Uzushio's sea shores where the sea snakes nest in the sands, and the sharks are always waiting in the water. (Think forest of death maritime edition)


	3. The witching hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the months since he killed Izuna Tobirama has been feeling so very... lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is set earlier than the previous two chapters, just a few months after Tobirama kills Izuna, before the village is founded, and I think before Hashirama and Mito get married. Came out longer than I was expecting but that's not really a bad thing.

Tobirama had lied to his clan. He’d lied to his brother. He’d even lied to _Touka,_ although it was anyone’s guess how much of the lie she’d actually bought.

Actually no, that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t _lied_ so much as misled. He’d found himself doing that a lot, over the years, and so far Touka was the only one to catch on. People, Hashirama especially, were very good at hearing what they wanted to hear.

He’d told them he was going to the temple, that he planned to go on a spirit quest, and they’d drawn their own conclusions. After all, for Shinobi, spirit quests were always about summons contracts. Always about power and combat ability and duty, and Tobirama was a good shinobi, everyone knew that.

He’d let them believe it and it wasn’t quite a lie, but it certainly wasn’t the truth either. Certainly he wouldn’t _object_ to a summons contract, no sane Shinobi would. But it wasn’t the reason why. The real why of it wasn’t something he was willing to admit to any of his kin, he could barely admit it to himself.

He couldn’t admit it because the truth was only five steps away from treason, only three away from madness, he couldn’t admit it because the truth of it always came down to Izuna. Because ever since he’d killed Izuna, Tobirama had been feeling… lost.

It wasn’t grief. Tobirama was intimately familiar with grief and it wasn’t that. It was more a sense of absence, of something missing, of something not right in his world. Tobirama had been feeling lost, and long before spirit quests had been about finding summons, they had served another purpose. Before shinobi had done what shinobi did and made them about war and death, they’d been about finding a path through the wilderness that was life.

A dangerous way of dealing with a crisis of the soul, but then, Tobirama was a Shinobi, and he lived his life in danger’s shadow. So he’d gone to the shrine, and he’d meditated, and he’d breathed in the smoke from the sacred fires, and when the world had turned hazy, outlined in bright golden light he’d drunk the bitter herb tea the monks had pressed on him, and stepped away from the physical world.

Dangerous maybe, but he wasn’t sure who he was anymore, wasn’t sure what the world was, and he wanted… he didn’t even know what he wanted. It wasn’t grief, but it was something, something heavy and cold that sat in his chest and left him feeling utterly hollow. A vision quest had seemed like a way of dealing with it, and at least it was an excuse to get away, to get out, when the air of the Senju compound had felt thick with the weight of expectation, and duty, and obligation, and all he wanted to do was scream at the pointlessness of it all.

Space and time worked oddly in the spirit world. As they should, Tobirama supposed, after all, the spirit world as a human experienced it was really only a symbolic interpretation of the spirit world as it actually was. It made sense in theory, in practice, well, to call it disorienting would be putting it mildly. Tobirama looked at the horizon, and tried not to feel queasy at the wrongness of the way it shifted under his gaze, at the subtly _off_ colours, at the feeling of being too cold, and too warm all at once. It was no place for humans.

He wasn’t really sure what he was doing here.

And yet for all the distressing wrongness of the scenery, Tobirama couldn’t remember ever breathing so freely. In the spirit world, none of it mattered, all those things that weighed so heavy on his heart, not the war, not the Senju, not the Uchiha, not Hashirama, because there was no one else there who knew enough to care.

He set off towards the mountains, towards the horizon. It seemed as good a direction as any and direction meant so very little in this place anyway. He wasn’t surprised when a few steps found him by the ocean instead, bluer and greener and deeper than the ocean in the physical world had ever been.

“Hello little cousin.” A voice rang out from the water wild and joyful, startling him. He looked over, and saw something that both was and wasn’t a dolphin. It was a dolphin, and yet somehow indefinably more, more real, more bright, more true.

“Hello cousin.” He said, cautious but polite. It was important to be polite to spirits.

“You seek something little cousin.” The dolphin said, with a razor sharp intelligence behind its eyes. “Tell me what it is, and I may help you.”

“I don’t know, cousin.” He said, because where was the sense in lying when all his fears and obligations were a world away. “I just know I’m looking for something.”

“Interesting”, the dolphin said “You could come away with me little cousin. Come and play in the waves. The water is so very lovely today.” And it was true. The water was beautiful, turquoise blue, and touched with just enough foam to make it exciting. Tobirama almost considered it. But then he looked again at the dolphin and saw how its smile was full of teeth, and he remembered, in the spirit world, nothing was ever so simple.

“And what will it cost me cousin, if I choose to step into the water with you?” he asked. The dolphin smiled wider.

“Clever little cousin. It’s wise to ask. But truly, it will cost nothing you wouldn’t be happier without.”

“But it will cost.” Tobirama didn’t step towards the ocean, but he didn’t step away either. It would be a lie to say there was no temptation in the dolphin spirit’s offer, and there was no point in lying here.

“Everything costs little cousin. You know that as well as any spirit born. But the ocean is wild, and beautiful, and beholden to no-one. Is that freedom truly not worth casting aside the shackles of duty and care for?” The dolphin smiled, and there was nothing human in that smile.

“You ask me to abandon my obligations and responsibilities then?” Tobirama realised.

“Those shackles are too heavy to swim with little cousin.” The dolphin said, with a weight of truth only a spirit could speak. “Is it not an easy price? I see how they weigh on you, how they twine about your throat tight enough to choke. Leave them behind, you’ll be happier without them.”

 “Perhaps I would cousin.” Tobirama answered softly. “We both know I would be lying if I told you I’d never wanted to cast off that weight. You’re right, duty, and responsibility, and obligation, the weight of them is sometimes too much to bear, enough to break a man.”

The dolphin waited in silent anticipation.

“But still.” Tobirama continued, without faltering. “I will not walk away. I cannot accept your offer cousin.” For a split second, the dolphin’s eyes turned dark with anger, before shifting back to their usual laughter.

“So be it. But mark my words little cousin, piece by piece, duty will steal away your happiness and your freedom. Be sure you do not regret your choice.” And with that the dolphin dived away, and vanished into the waves. Unsettled by the encounter Tobirama walked away from the shore.

…

It was strange, to be lost in a place where location meant so very little, where nothing was fixed or solid anyway. But then, again, perhaps it wasn’t so strange, truths were after all so much more present, so much more manifest in the spirit world and the truth was, that Tobirama had been lost for months. Ever since….

“Ever since I died.” Izuna said, with a bitter smile, and Tobirama had to resist the urge to lash out at the sight of a dead enemy appearing from the mists as fierce, and as proud as the day Tobirama killed him.

“Why…” Izuna interrupted before Tobirama could finish his question.

“Am I here? I’m your spirit guide I suppose. At least that’s probably the closest description.”

“You’re here because I’m lost.” Tobirama realised. Spirit guides appeared when questers couldn’t find their way forward on the other side, Tobirama remembered that much from the monks’ instructions, and from the stories that led him here in the first place.

“I’m here because you’re lost.” Izuna confirmed in a voice that wavered between resentment and vicious satisfaction. “Apparently Senju, you’re too incompetent to complete a simple spirit quest on your own.” Tobirama chose not to rise to the bait. Instead he asked the obvious question.

“Why are you Izuna?” Why, of all the dead kin, and dead strangers, and dead enemies, that Tobirama had left behind him, was it Izuna he’d conjured out of the mists.

“Because Senju, you’ve been lost ever since I died. We both know it. You don’t even know who you are without me. Of course I’m your spirit guide.” Izuna rolled his eyes, as though it should have been obvous. And perhaps he had a point, not that Tobirama was willing to admit it. He’d felt something at Izuna’s death. It wasn’t grief, but still it had left him lost and empty inside.

“So where are we going now?” Tobirama asked, abandoning his previous line of questioning abruptly. Nothing good could come of that conversation.

“One foot in front of the other Senju. We’re bound to get to somewhere eventually.” Izuna said in an obnoxiously bright tone. Tobirama resisted the urge to hit him. He didn’t look substantial enough to punch anyway. Instead, Tobirama decided to settle for sarcasm.

“Well that’s incredibly helpful. I could never have worked that one out on my own.”

“If you figured it out on your own, then why were you just standing around? Honestly, you could have saved us both time and trouble.” Izuna snapped back. “It’s not like I can give you a map. This is the spirit world, getting places is all about intent.”

“You are a terrible guide.” Tobirama said flatly, right before his foot collided painfully with a large pile of rocks and earth.

“I’m a terrible guide that got you somewhere though.” Izuna said, after a smug pause. Tobirama refused to dignify that with an answer.

“Greetings young soldier.” Came a voice from the mound. “What brings you this way this fine morning?” It was a powerful voice, with a force of presence to match, and for a moment Tobirama was eight years old again, delivering a mission report to his father, was nine years old  running drills under cousin Itsuka’s watchful supervision, was ten years old standing on a battlefield while uncle Kuroyama yelled at them all to hold steady. Tobirama had been a soldier all his life, he knew that tone almost better than he knew his own name.

“I’m still trying to figure that out sir.” Tobirama replied, still looking for the voice’s owner.

“Well that would be your problem wouldn’t it young soldier. You’re looking for answers when you don’t need to know. Good soldiers know that asking too many of the wrong questions will just mess them up.” The speaker finally emerged from the mound. Smaller than Tobirama had expected, far smaller than the force of his presence, and yet, many times larger than any natural ant ever could be, with a shiny carapace that was one moment brown, another moment red, another moment black, with all of antkind reflected in its colours.

“What would you suggest then sir.” It was the kind of insolence that would have earned him a blow from Butsuma, but he had come looking for answers, no matter what it might cost him. He had to ask.

“What would I suggest soldier? I’d suggest you get on with the job in hand. Trust to the system, to your superiors, that’s what keeps the colony running smoothly. The generals are in charge for a reason, if we let every rookie with questions derail our operations, why then the whole war effort would collapse.” The ant snapped at him. “Stop asking pointless questions, get in here, and help shore up the colony’s defences.” His voice softened a little before he continued, “We could be good allies to each other, my kin and yours, if you could just learn to be practical.”

“You want me to stop asking questions, to follow orders. That’s the cost isn’t it? You offer strength, and in return you want me to surrender my doubts.”

“I offer contentment, I offer faith. I offer a world where you don’t constantly have to second guess, and yes, I offer all the strength that comes with faith. Because if you trust in the plan, in the colony, in your orders then you are never alone, you have hundreds, thousands of comrades in arms that are following those same orders, and with that strength, well, there’s nothing that can’t be achieved. Is it really so high a price to pay?” There was an unsympathetic kind of understanding in faceted black eyes.

“After all” The ant continued, merciless, “It’s lonely on the outside, asking questions, doubting, don’t try and deny it.” The worst thing was, he was right, he was right and Tobirama couldn’t deny it. There _was_ a comfort to be found in following orders, in trusting orders. There was a reason so many people, shinobi, samurai, even civilians chose to live that way. Because obedience offered a kind of certainty, a kind of stability that questions and doubt never could.

There was a part of Tobirama that wished more than anything that he could live like that. But Izuna was standing a few paces away, face blank, waiting, a concrete reminder of just where that way of thinking led, of the thing that wasn’t grief, and wasn’t shame but was still more than Tobirama could bear. In the end there was only one way he could answer the ant’s offer.

“I’m sorry sir, but I have to refuse. Asking questions is lonely, but it must be done nonetheless.” The ant flicked one of his antenna at Tobirama’s response, and somehow, Tobirama knew that movement meant sorrow for a creature that wasn’t capable of tears.

“Very well soldier. I can see your mind is made up. But mark my words soldier, doubt and loneliness will break you if you let them.” And with that he disappeared back into the anthill. Tobirama stood quiet and still for a long moment, staring at the place where the ant spirit had stood, before Izuna spoke up.

“If you’re done debating military ideology with the local animal life Senju, then we should probably move on. Places to go people to meet, I’m sure you understand.” And with that he strode off into the mist, leaving Tobirama to follow. The Uchiha always did tend towards the melodramatic.

They walked on without speaking for what felt like a very long time, as the mist gave way to a forest that was unlike any forest Tobirama had ever seen in the living world, and yet somehow evoked the sense of all of them. The quiet was eerie, almost unsettling, even to shinobi, who so often worked silently in the dark.

“Are you actually Izuna, or are you just a manifestation patterned on my own subconscious expectations?” Tobirama wondered out loud, as the silence dragged on. “The monks weren’t very clear on the workings of spirit guide manifestations.” Izuna laughed viciously at that.

“Hah. Of course you want to know. Never did find a mystery you could resist analysing to within an inch of its life. Ever think maybe there were some things living men weren’t meant to know?”

“Oh please.” Tobirama rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you were any better. I read your articles. The psychological ones? There was nothing you considered too personal to examine in those. And you’re dodging my question Uchiha. The living you would have had plenty to say on the subject of deflection there I’m sure.”

“Does it really matter in the end? The results are the same either way.” Izuna asked, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice that Tobirama had never heard before, never wanted to hear again.

“Perhaps. But I would like to know anyway. Please Izuna.” Tobirama kept his voice soft, not even sure why he wanted to know so badly.

“You want the truth?” Izuna snarled, suddenly angry and hurt and afraid as an animal in a trap. “The truth is I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m really Izuna’s soul, dragged back from eternal rest to guide you through your self-indulgent soul searching journey, or if I’m just the form of Izuna, manifested solely to help you on your way and then disappear back into nothingness when I’m done. Who knows, maybe I’m some unholy combination of both. You killed me and now you ask if I’m truly back and the truth is I don’t know” Then Izuna’s voice turned deadly soft and cruel. “Tell me” he said. “Which answer do you think would haunt you most?”

Tobirama was spared from having to reply by the bird that settled on a branch in front of them with eyes full of possibility and hope, and feathers that whispered of dreams.

“What do you seek on the road of life, fellow traveller? What path do you walk in these woods so far from all you know?” It asked, as it carefully plucked a bright blue flower from the branch.

“I think that’s part of what I’m here to find out fellow traveller.” Tobirama replied, as the bird flitted down to a lovingly arranged structure of twigs and leaves, with a vivid display of identical blue flowers laid out in front of it. A bowerbird then, or more truthfully, _the_ bowerbird. A townsman might not have been able to tell it from any other small brown bird, but a lifetime spent sneaking through the wilderness, left most shinobi with a decent working knowledge of the local wildlife, and Tobirama always had been an overachiever. He knew bowerbirds and their habits just as he knew more than a dozen other wild creatures that made their homes in Fire country forests.

The bird positioned the flower carefully before it spoke again, and Tobirama wasn’t above being impressed by the art of it, by the attention to detail the bird’s bower represented, as though all the care and skill the bird’s mortal kin put into their work had been distilled into a manifestation of the very _idea_ of a bower. It drew the eye, and caught at the heart and sparked a hundred thousand creative impulses in Tobirama’s mind.

“Have you ever thought that maybe your path isn’t something you’ll _find._ Maybe it’s something you need to make?” The bird spoke lightly but there was something curiously intent about the look in its eyes.

“I’m not much of an artist, fellow traveller.” Tobirama grinned wryly.

“But you do like to create. You _want_ to create, even when the whole world is telling you to destroy.” If Tobirama had been an inch less of a shinobi he might have flinched at that as he had not for either the dolphin or the ant. As it was his silence was clearly all the answer the bowerbird needed.

“I thought so.” It nodded almost imperceptibly to itself. “You’re an artist. It might not be pretty pretty pictures, but you’re an artist. What is it? Something you can justify to yourself and your kin as practical no doubt. Swordsmanship? Negotiations? No…” It paused and stared intently at Tobirama for a moment, “Science, am I right? You like learning how things work and putting them together in new ways.”

“Yes.” Tobirama admitted reluctantly. He wasn’t fool enough to lie to a spirit, even if every instinct was screaming at him to hide his weaknesses at any cost. The bowerbird preened itself in satisfaction.

“I thought so, I thought so. I have an eye for these things you see. Just like I can see that when he still lived your guide over there truly wanted to fix people’s minds, build them up instead of breaking them down.” Tobirama refused to look at the mightbe Izuna shade standing behind him. It was after all, nothing he hadn’t half suspected already, late at night reading papers that his rival had published in secret under false names.

“Yes, yes, I’m good at seeing where people put their creative impulses.” The bowerbird stopped preening itself abruptly. “Of course that’s not what really matters is it?”

“Is it not.” Tobirama’s voice was more brittle than he liked.

“Of course not. You see this display I’ve built, you see how beautiful it is, how perfectly arranged.” The bird preened again. Tobirama nodded. It was indeed beautiful. “It wasn’t easy, it took a long time, so much time, searching for just the right pieces to fit, organising them to best effect, building the perfect bower to show them off. I wore myself to the bone, half-starved myself doing it. Art requires sacrifices. Now, do you think I did all that, made those sacrifices on a whim? No I did not. I built it in the name of the future, of hope, of the children I might have if what I create is just bright enough, just perfect enough, to convince my love to choose me. What matters is never what people create, what matters is why, and the answer to that is always the same.” It paused for breath and fixed him with that frighteningly intense stare, and all of a sudden Tobirama realised why the way the bowerbird looked at him was so disconcertingly familiar. “It’s all for the sake of a brighter and more beautiful tomorrow.”

“Ah” Tobirama breathed, in sudden shocked understanding. “Now I see. You offer me the chance to build a brighter future yes?” The bowerbird nodded sharply. “And it will cost me the realities of the here and now, am I right fellow traveller?”

“Is it not a worthwhile trade?” The bowerbird asked quizzically.

“Perhaps.” Tobirama admitted softly. “My brother certainly thought so. His brother too.” He added, nodding in Izuna’s direction. “But I’m afraid I must refuse. Someone has to see the world for what it is.” The tilt of the bird’s head all but screamed confusion, but still it did not hesitate in its reply.

“If that’s your decision then I’ll respect it. But mark my words fellow traveller, if you don’t build your own future you’ll have to live with the one others choose to build. I hope you can endure it.” And with that it disappeared into the trees.

“Well Senju. That was an interesting altercation don’t you think?” Izuna grinned just a touch too wide to be real. It was almost enough to convince Tobirama that he was real. That discussion had cut just a little too close to the bone for the both of them.

“Let’s just get out of here.” Tobirama snapped back.

“Alright, alright, easy.” Izuna said, hands apart in a token effort to placate Tobirama. There was a long awkward silence as they made their way out of the forest.

In the end it was Tobirama who broke first, apparently the dead had more patience than the living.

“Where are we going anyway?” Izuna stopped and gave him a _look._

“You know where we’re going. You’ve known since you arrived here. All you have to do is decide to get there.” Tobirama blinked slowly in sudden realisation.

“The mountains. We’re going to the mountains.” And with that the scenery shifted in disorienting and stomach twisting ways.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, Senju.” Izuna mocked. The mountains were impressive in size, and unnatural in colour, and edged so sharp they looked like they should cut, everything a mountain could and should be. As high up as they were, everything seemed very sharp and clear, and unforgivingly bleak. Tobirama didn’t look away.

“You see very clearly stranger.” A voice said from an overhanging rock by Tobirama’s head, as a mottled grey form shifted, and resolved itself into the form of a massive spotted cat. “I’ve been watching your progress stranger.” The snow leopard said, before idly licking one paw.

“And what will you offer me stranger?” Tobirama said, his patience with cryptic conversations worn thin. “What will you ask of me in return?” The snow leopard looked up from its grooming disinterestedly.

“Nothing” it said “and nothing. Nothing you don’t already have, nothing you haven’t already given up on. You see too clearly stranger, you see things as they are, and you’ll never sleep easy again.” It stretched before leaping down from its rock to stand directly in front of Tobirama.

“You sound very certain stranger.” Tobirama said, curious and cautious.

“Of course stranger. After all, I also see things very clearly. I see you for what you are, and you’re one of mine heart and soul. You know I’m right.” It rumbled, smug as only a cat could be, but Tobirama couldn’t deny it was right.

“So why didn’t you speak to me first?” Tobirama asked, more out of academic interest than anything else. The snow leopard seemed to consider for a moment.

“Well, mostly it was just quite amusing watching the rest of those fools try and convince you. They really are old enough to know better. You’re too responsible for freedom, too aware for contentment, and far far too cynical for hope. But then I suppose some people are never too old to make idiots of themselves trying to impress a potential summoner.” Tobirama really should have been more annoyed at that admission, but then, under other circumstances he could imagine himself doing something similar, so maybe it was just a sign they were well matched.

“Truth then.” Tobirama said softly. “You want a summoner who sees things as they truly are.”

“I want a summoner who _faces_ things as they truly are, who lives with that knowledge. Plenty of people _see._ They see and then they look away, and pretend they didn’t, and do their level best to forget. You don’t look away, you can’t, even when you think it might break you.”

In that moment, a movement at the corner of his eyes had Tobirama turning quickly to look at maybe-Izuna, to see him fading, transparency creeping in from the edges like shadows at sunset. Maybe-Izuna caught the look on his face and grinned vicious and empty.

“Don’t look so surprised Senju.” He drawled. “You’ve found what you were looking for, you don’t need a guide anymore.”

“Like you were much of a guide.” Tobirama replied, his tone was mocking but under it there was the edge of a feeling that wan’t grief but was near enough kin to it as to make little difference.

“I was the _best_ guide. It wasn’t my fault you were slow on the uptake” Izuna retorted, and beneath the bitterness and vicious humour there was something ike sympathy in his eyes, after all, Tobirama was the one being left behind and Izuna of all people would understand what a weight that was to bear. And then his tone shifted, “I’m not sorry it was you, you know.” he admitted softly “it wouldn’t have been right for it to have ended any other way.” And with that he vanished. Typical melodramatic Uchiha, Tobirama thought numbly, always had to have the last word.

Tobirama was still staring at the empty patch of air where Izuna had stood when the snow leopard made its move, marking him with a thick furred chin rubbed firmly against his shoulder, the force of it enough to make him stagger, the warmth of it a comfort in the face of the cold emptiness inside him.

“The scroll will be in your hands when you wake.” It said, and then walked away with feline indifference, vanishing back into the mottled grey rocks it had appeared from.

Tobirama suddenly felt very tired, worn thin by the weight of too much soul searching. It was, he thought, probably time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is either a trip to the spirit world or just a trip, but given Tobirama does end up with a summons contract out of this there is probably at least a semi real element to all of this.  
> Izuna is not a genjutsu in this chapter, he might be actual Izuna raised from the dead to be Tobirama's spirit guide, or he might just be a manifestation of Tobirama's subconscious.  
> All the animals Tobirama talks to are potential summons, he ends up with snow leopards, it's a whole discover your true path soul searching experience. They are either spirit animals representing everything mortal animals are or could be or symbolise, or visual representations of inner truths depending on how literal you want the trip to the spirit world to be.


End file.
